


The king and his pet

by orphan_account



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Bloodlust, Demon Dean, Demon!Dean, Evil Dean, Evil Sam, Killer Sam, King of Hell, Knight of Hell, Other, blood junkie, demon blood sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is now a demon. His behavior changes and he becomes not only the knight of hell he was made into, but also the king of hell. His blood has some secrets that he uses against Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning

Sam Winchester stood whimpering and shaking violently in the bunker's dungeon. The soft cries reverberated through his skull as he held back racking sobs. His stomach flipped and he had the sudden feeling that he was about to hack and dry heave. He felt sick, empty, dead. He only wished that he would actually die. At least he knew that in his Heaven he would be surrounded by memories of Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean. The name was being screamed repetitively in his aching head. He had enough. He glared ominously at the spot that the king of hell, Crowley, should have been summoned. Sam's blood boiled with blinding rage. He refused to continue living while his big brother's corpse was growing colder by the second. He imagined bugs and wild animals feasting on his brothers remains as he deteriorated to nothing. No, he would not accept this. He released a savage scream and kicked at the wall with all of his force. Dean was dead and Crowley wouldn't show up. The only way Sam knew how to save him was by sacrificing his soul, as Dean had once done for him. Sam clapped his hands to his head and squeezed. It was full of so much pressure, so much stress. He was being shredded, his heart was in physical pain. Sam couldn't remain in this state. He screamed into the oblivion that was his mind CAS! CAS! He didn't care that Cas' grace was burning up. He had done so much for them, the self sacrificing Winchesters. He only wished to ask this last favor. If Dean was resurrected Sam would give up hunting for good. He would move somewhere isolated and drag Dean with him, willingly or not. After several minutes of pacing and breathing more and more shallow breaths, he concluded that Castiel was not coming. He felt a surge of resentment towards him. Somewhere deep below the forming madness, anger, and grief, Sam felt pity and regret for the dying angel. He knew Cas wouldn't last much longer, but his emotions were running wild, telling Sam that he was a traitor. His throat closed tightly and threatened him with tears. He kept them at bay until he made his way to the impala.

He sat in the drivers seat, feeling oddly out of place. This was Dean's seat. Sam gripped the steering wheel foreignly. His hand stretched to the dash board and stroked it. He started the engine. The car was like a living thing. The impala was a Winchester, and had been put together again many times, just like Sam and Dean. "We'll get him back, Baby." Sam heard his thick, croaking voice whisper as his hand slipped to the wheel. He drove recklessly to the nearest crossroad. As he exited the car, his eyes, blurred with tears, registered two figures about to shake hands. One of them had luminescent, red eyes. "HEY" Sam screamed at the demon. He turned to face him "well, well, Sam winchester. What brings you to my little crossroads?" He said cooly even though Sam could sense his fear. He strutted to the two men that took on a more defined shape with every step he took. One man had dark skin and a quivering bottom lip. He looked frightened, yet determined. Sam could relate to that. As he approached them, he clamped his hand onto the man's shoulder and pushed him away. "Go home, forget about demons. They'll screw you, and trust me, you want to keep your soul." Sam ordered confidently. The man nodded his head and sprinted out of sight. The demon sighed. "Leave it to a Winchester to drive away business." Sam had had enough. He ripped the demon killing knife from his waist and pointed it at him. He swung his other arm to his throat. He dug his fingernails into the now sweating skin. "My brother is dead. I want a deal." Sam demanded. The demon gurgled incoherently. He loosened his grip on his throat. He gasped for ragged breath. "Not gonna happen. If Lucifer ever escaped the cage, well, let's just say he wouldn't be very happy that a demon had laid a finger on his precious vessel's soul." He spat the words bitterly at him. "Right now all you have to worry about is me and this knife" He edged the knife closer. "So you had better give me what I want." Sam snarled viciously. The demon swallowed and hesitated. His eyes squeezed shut and he grabbed the hand that gripped the knife. "You might as well kill me, because Lucifer's wrath is feared by all demons. None of them are gonna make a deal with you, and I think you already knew that. Sam bored his blazing eyes into the demon's. He slightly shook his head at the realization that he had no way of getting Dean back. With one last furious look at the man he held by the throat, he plunged the blade into his chest. There was a blast of red light as he collapsed. Sam wiped the knife on his jeans. This was it. Dean was gone, and Sam remained stranded in this dead world. He slowly shuffled his way to the impala and drove away from the bloody scene.

When Sam arrived at the bunker, he had a solemn expression. There were no tears this time, there were no fits of rage and anger. He pursed his lips and stepped into the dungeon. It was empty of Crowley, who had refused to be summoned. He sighed and clenched his fists at his sides. He left the dungeon and jogged back to the impala. He opened the creaky door and sat with a peaceful awareness of what he would do next. He started the engine and tuned the radio to find a song that he liked. He stopped when he heard the lyrics "heat of the moment". He bit his lip and repressed a hysterical giggle. Nothing about the situation was funny, but in that moment, he just wanted to laugh one last time. He bowed his head and turned the nob that changed the songs. All of a sudden, his breath was stolen from him. Tears prickled in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. He put a hand to his mouth to wipe the salty liquid from his lips. Sam turned on the car's headlights and laid back against the old seat. He mouthed the lyrics and closed his eyes softly. His hand felt for the gun that rested on the seat next to him. He clung to its icy handle as his hand shook. He pressed the barrel gently to his temple. The coldness did not reach past his thick hair. His lip shook as he sang along. "Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done." Sam wondered if his death would be his final peace. "Lay your weary head to rest" he let his head fall back onto the cushion of the seat. "Don't you cry no more" one last tear slipped down his warm cheek. He repositioned his grip on the gun and inched his finger to the trigger. He had started to press down on it when he heard a faint "stop". If he just put a little more weight on the trigger.......but who would be telling him to stop? There was nobody left in this world that cared about him. Curiosity got the best of him. His eyes unclenched and he strained to see what was in front of the headlights. As he finally adjusted to the lighting, he refused to believe what he was seeing could be real. Before the car stood a beaten, bloody Dean Winchester......with midnight black eyes.

This must have been a hallucination. This wasn't real. He yet again raised the gun to his head as the radio sung "though my eyes could see I still was a blind man". The thing that looked like Dean yelled "STOP!" Loud enough to be perfectly clear this time. His voice was gritty and deep. This only pushed Sam more to pull the trigger. Just as Sam could feel the gun preparing to fire, his hand lost feeling. He turned his head to see that he had dropped the gun, and his hand was now swaying to the side. He had no control over it. Horrified, Sam turned to look at the demon Dean. This wasn't a hallucination. A demon must have been possessing his dead body. Sam glared at the figure and grabbed his knife. He swung the door open and regained control in his other hand. He strutted with a merciless determination to his brother's body. He looked wild and crazed as he raised his hand and brought it down onto the demon. It grabbed his hand and tossed him aside. Sam grunted as he lifted himself from the street. The demon backed away and turned it's palms to face him. "Sammy, SAMMY! It's me, it's Dean! I don't know what's happening, everything feels and looks different." The demon appeared genuinely frightened, but Sam didn't care what it was playing at. He wanted to tear the things throat out with his teeth for what it had done. "So, before I kill you, how did you get past the anti-possession tattoo?" Sam asked ruthlessly. He was now only about a foot from it. "Sammy.....what are you talking about?" It tilted it's head in what appeared to be confusion. Sam Sniggered sarcastically. Was it serious? He dug in his pocket for his phone and clicked to the front camera. He stuffed it in the demon's face. "Next time you try to play human, make sure your eyes have flicked back to the normal color of the person you're wearing." He growled angrily. He lifted his arm to stab it, but it had an expression of terror. He could hear it swearing under it's breath. It shook it's head as tears leaked from it's demonic eyes. Last time Sam had checked, demons didn't cry. Sam stared suspiciously into his brother's face as he yanked the phone back. "Dean?" But it didn't answer. It was gazing open-mouthed at him. "S-sam" it said with a shaky voice. He blinked and the black eyes had clicked back to a seaweed green, though a bit dimmer than usual. Sam took a step back. "Dean, you're.....you're....." Dean had a revolted expression. His eyes flicked to his hands and back to Sam's face. "Kill me" he suggested. "What? No. No, I won't kill you, I just got you back" he snapped out of his daze and crinkled his forehead. Dean was a demon. But he wasn't dead. Sam had an internal debate consisting of only the two sentences. All he knew was that Dean was standing in front of him, alive. But Sam should be dead. He had squeezed the gun's trigger as hard as he could, but his hand dropped it. It was as if something had stolen control over his arm. "Dean.....you stopped me from killing myself." Sam whispered, mentally denying the truth. Dean swallowed and revealed his disgust with himself. "Demons have telekinesis." He stated dreadfully. Sam had known, but he refused to admit it. He was slipping into a state of denial. He couldn't believe that his brother was this...this thing that they hunted. A thought crossed Sam that chilled his bones and drained what little color was left in his face. He shuttered unsubtly. "What is it?" Dean slurred. "What if hunters find out that-?" "That i'm something that's supposed to be killed by them? Good. Let them." He replied miserably. Sam caught him glancing at the demon killing knife in his hand. "No. Absolutely not. Do not give up Dean. We WILL fix you." Sam uttered with false confidence. Dean shook his head. "There's no fixing this. There's no end. I have to die, Sam." With that, Dean lunged for the knife and wrestled it from Sam's hands. "DEAN, NO!" Sam lost his grip on the hilt. Dean leapt back a few steps and plunged the knife into his chest. Sam had expected a blast of light and then nothing. Another lifeless Dean to plan a funeral for. To kill himself for. Except, the knife stood still in his skin. Dean gaped, bewildered at the lack of blood flowing from his plaid shirt. Realization seemed to dawn on his petrified face. "Cain didn't die when I stabbed him....because he's a knight of hell." Dean bowed his head and his eyebrows drew together. "Sam, I'm a knight of-of hell." He announced gravely. Shock set in as Sam scanned his brother. He hadn't changed physically, from what Sam could see, but he radiated a darkness that seemed to engulf everything surrounding him. It felt cold and merciless. He was still somehow his brother though. Sam knew better than most what it felt like to be thought of as a monster. To be shunned and feared because of something you couldn't control. He flexed his arms and glanced at his poisoned veins. He recalled that he had willingly added to the poison. He grimaced at the bittersweet memories of blood drinking. He hesitantly laid his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed it. He stared up at Sam with disbelief in his face. "You aren't evil, Dean."Sam said it with a reassuring calmness. Dean's expression morphed into what appeared to be the slimmest sliver of hope. When they had emerged into the bunker, there was a kind of awkwardness between them. Sam didn't know what to say or do. Dean appeared just as lost. Sam scratched the back of his head and bit his lip. "So, uh, I guess i'm gonna call it a night." Dean seemed to be slowly processing the words. "Yeah.....so back to life as usual until we can miraculously find me a cure?" Sam couldn't help but smile. "I guess so." He shrugged nonchalantly. He still couldn't believe his own eyes. Dean was here, Dean was alive. His heart lurched with contentedness. He made his way to bed with his mind drowning in euphoria, doubts, fears, and jubilation. He wasn't sure how to feel about Dean's new condition, but he knew it had saved him. He drifted into unconsciousness.

When he awoke he recalled having a disturbing dream that black, nearly liquid eyes were stalking him, analyzing him. At the end of the dream he had performed an exorcism, obliterating the eyes. All that was left were wisps of smoke. His eyes remained clamped shut as he mentally relived it. He caught a sudden whiff of sulfur. Only half awake his heart rate sped up, warning him of the danger. He reached under his pillow, as quick as lightning, snapped his eyes open, and pointed it at the foot of his bed. Less than three feet from him was Dean, staring worriedly at the blade nearly grazing his throat. Dean released a nervous laugh. "Okay there, Sammy?" He asked cautiously, his eyes still wide with surprise. Sam sighed and returned the knife under his pillow. "Sorry, man. I smelt sulfur." He shrugged apologetically. Dean looked him up and down. "I just came to tell you breakfast is ready." Sam wore a confused expression. "Breakfast" he repeated. "Yup. Sort of an "i'm sorry i'm a demon" thing" he grinned warily. Sam knew there was no way to explain to Dean that he didn't think he was a monster, so instead of attempting, he walked tiredly to the kitchen. Before him was a cinnamon roll, scrambled eggs, and a banana. Sam was pleasantly surprised. "Wow, Dean. This is great. Thanks." Sam gifted him with a toothy smile. He noticed that there was only food for one. "Where's yours?" Sam glanced back as he rested himself into a chair. Dean turned away, looking guilty. "I-uh...i'm not hungry." Sam's stomach dropped. Demons didn't need to eat. The reality of his situation seemed to be setting in. Sam attempted to distract himself by gorging himself with food. A part of his mind lingered on the thought of Dean never needing to eat. Over the next few days the awkwardness and nervousness between them seemed to fade and eventually disappear. They were back to being the Winchester brothers.

Sam was cooking dinner while Dean read on article on Sam's laptop in the bunker kitchen one afternoon. "So uh Sam, I was thinking maybe we could start working cases again.....there's this one that looks like a djin might be kidnapping kids." Dean stated with his eyes still glued to the screen. Sam had been expecting this for a while. Dean had become restless and bored in the bunker and he knew he was itching for a hunt. "Do you really think that's a good idea? You know, with your-you know." Sam retorted, unable to bring himself to call him a demon. "I think as long as we're safe about it, not running into any other hunters, we could pull it off. I still want to help people, save them. Even while i'm like this." Dean nearly begged gloomily. Sam recalled that Dean had been showing off more negative emotions lately. Either unexplainable anger, or abrupt depression. It gave Sam anxiety to think that his brother was changing emotionally at such a rapid pace. He wanted to make his brother happy while he was still himself. Even if it meant risking exposure. "Alright. We'll go. But we HAVE to be careful, Dean. I mean it, inconspicuous." Dean seemed to light up the tiniest bit as he turned his eyes on him. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."

The next day they were on the road, heading to the djin case. They performed their usual interviews with the families, did some research, and found where they were being hidden. They killed the djin and saved the kids. Everything had gone smoothly, until they were packing up in their motel room. "You know, I did kind of miss it." Sam admitted as he laid a gun in his bag. "I knew you would. It's our job. We save people's lives, it don't get any better than that." Dean was unusually cheerful after the successful case. They continued packing their bags in silence until there was a knock on the door. "I got it." Dean announced as he swung it open. Sam snapped his head to the source of screaming. Dean was clutching his face as smoke left if. The ground was sprinkled with holy water. "No!" Sam leapt in front of Dean as his knees buckled. Pointing a gun at him was a big, strong looking, blond hunter wearing a thick jacket. The one behind him was skinnier with black hair and blue jeans. "I'm the one with the gun, so I suggest you let us in." Said the gruff, thick voice of the big hunter. Sam and Dean navigated to sit on the nearest bed. The effects of the holy water seemed to be wearing off, but Dean's eyes were pitch black. The hunters moved inward and slammed the door shut. "So, we saw you two working a case we picked up on." Said the large one. The skinny one intervened with "yeah, then we smelt sulfur around your black eyed friend here." Looking at Sam. "Seeing the way you protected him, I would guess you're one too." The big one splashed holy water in Sam's face. He spit a bit of it out of his mouth and glared at the two. "I see..." Began the bigger one. "This is one of those sick cases where the hunter keeps a demon as a pet." They both chuckled mercilessly. "He's my brother" sam pleaded with hatred in his eyes. The skinny one snorted. "Do you KNOW what demonic possession is? That ain't your brother." He jabbed a thumb at Dean. Sam mustered some courage and stood up, nearly nose to nose with him. "Hi, Sam Winchester. That's my knight of hell brother, Dean.". He put an emphasis on "knight of hell". They obviously were not going to listen and understand, so Sam decided the best route to take would be to frighten them into leaving. The skinny one stepped between them. "Telling us you're the Winchesters? Really?" He chuckled deeply. "You didn't actually think we would believe you?" Sam's chest rumbled with a growl that was clawing to be released. "I see you've heard of us" the big one stepped out from behind the skinny one. "Every hunter knows about the Winchesters. You and mr. Black eyed peas over there ain't them. They're legends. You two are just fakes." Sam bored his eyes into the light blue ones in front of him. He stepped closer and sucked in a deep breath. "I'm Sam Winchester. I was addicted to demon blood, I killed Lillith, the mother of monsters, I accidentally released Lucifer from his cage, I was possessed by him, I jumped into the cage, I was sprung out by an angel, I lost my soul, got it back, went crazy for a while, then got better. I've literally been to hell and back. And purgatory, and heaven. So has Dean over there." He pointed to a still black eyed Dean and continued faster. "Now Dean, he took the mark of Cain from the man himself, got the first blade, killed Abbadon, a knight of hell and the queen of hell, died trying to kill Metatron, the man who caused all of the angels to fall in case you haven't already heard of him, and woke up as a demon. He's still himself and still saving people. Now, I honestly doubt that both of you combined have been through even a quarter of what we have, so I suggest that you BACK OFF!" Sam inched closer to the white faced, wide mouthed hunters. "BEFORE WE DO SOMETHING WE'LL REGRET LATER!" Sam huffed and had to replenish his air. His face was red and strained. He had never exploded on somebody like that before. The big hunter spoke after several seconds of staring, horrified, into Sam's infuriated eyes. "You're really Sam-THE Sam Winchester?" Sam nodded once and backed away from them. They both took a step forward. Within a split second they had cocked their guns and pointed one at Sam and one at Dean. Sam reached for the gun in his open bag and gripped it tightly. The skinny one shot Dean in the heart. Having no effect, Dean turned his black eyes to it then back to the trembling hunter. The big hunter's shot narrowly missed Sam. Sam sprung at him and shot him in the leg. He fell against the wall with a high pitched scream. Sam turned his head to Dean, who had shot the skinny hunter in the head. Sam thought he saw a flash of smiling, white teeth on Dean's face before the large hunter lunged at Sam. Dean shot him in the heart before he reached him. They were both breathing hard. They called the cops, disposed of the phone they used, and drove away from the scene in the impala. Dean was driving with no music. Sam's head was slumped against the damp window. He desperately wanted to confront Dean about him smiling while killing the hunter. He decided he could have been seeing things, there was no reason to make Dean think Sam was paranoid about him going dark side. The last thing he needed was an even more negative Dean trapped in the bunker. They had both concluded that it would be for the best if they didn't go on another hunt until He was better. This had been exactly what Sam mentally predicted would happen. They arrived at the bunker and spent the rest of the night in the sitting room. They were exhausted from the several hour trip home. They fell asleep with Dean on the couch and Sam in an arm chair.

The next day they were in the library researching ways to turn Dean human again. His increasingly aggressive moods were beginning to worry Sam. The sooner they cured him, the better. He felt dread for what his brother would become if he remained this way. Dean had gotten bored with reading, or so he said, and was lounging at the same table as Sam, twirling a knife. "Anything?" Dean asked hopelessly for the twelfth time that day. "Nope" Sam breathed out irritatedly. Sam continued scanning the book as he thought horrible thoughts of Dean giving up, embracing his condition. He didn't know what he would do if that happened. If he could, he would contain him until he found a solution. He imagined Dean screaming and spitting at Sam with black eyes as the chains containing him rattled. Sam felt an emptiness emerging from the terror-filled image. Sam heard a deep, rumbled "ouch" come from Dean. He looked over his book to see that he had cut himself on the knife. He seemed angry at the minor injury, although, that may have just been because he was angry at everything at the time. A tempting smell filled with the promise of euphoria, power, and sweetness swirled around Sam. He breathed it in deeply and felt a burning desire to consume it. He vaguely felt his tongue slide over his drying lips. "Sammy?" He registered Dean attempting to grasp his attention. his eyes snapped open and swiveled to Dean. He had a bloody rag covering the cut on his hand. Sam's book had fallen over and his knuckles were white as his hands were clamped to the table. Dean looked horrified, confused, and wary. "Dude....you just licked your lips and groaned like....like....well I don't even wanna say what it was like." Sam hadn't realized what had just happened. His eyes were trapped on the bloody rag on Dean's hand. He didn't trust himself to speak."you okay?" Dean surveyed him. Sam nodded unconvincingly and jumped from the chair. He forced his unwilling legs to carry him into the bathroom. Once the door was shut Sam locked it and stumbled to the wall. He hadn't felt a craving like that in years. Maybe it was how often he was around Dean? His breathing was deep and ragged. He looked into a mirror and analyzed his appearance. He was sweating non-stop, his lips were cracked and dry, and his eyes were bloodshot. Did Dean know why Sam had run out? Could he see the hunger in Sam's eyes? All of a sudden he heard foot steps heading away from the library. He stood up and swayed on his feet. They were now acting on their on accord. His heart hammered excitedly in his chest as he neared the door. He placed his sweaty hand onto the metal handle and pulled. The overwhelming smell overpowered his will. The next thing he knew, there was a sweet, metallic liquid being desperately sucked into his mouth. It swelled within him, filling his entire being with a comforting warmth. He could feel his mind and muscles drinking in the power. From the back of his mind a thought wriggled its way into his consciousness. This is wrong, it informed him. Stop! The thought pleaded. Sam didn't know how to stop. It was like he had been dying for years and was being flooded with life. His chest rumbled with delight. "SAM!" Sam's eyes flicked to the figure in the doorway. Dean stood petrified with terror. The color in his face had drained and he appeared close to retching. Sam felt the liquid warmth dripping from his chin. He glanced at his hands to find the rag soaked in Dean's blood clenched in them. Sam was shocked into reality. His eyes were wide, his mind frantic. His mouth worked, searching for a way to explain himself. "I-wha-I didn't mean-" he stuttered helplessly. He was like a child who had been caught doing something wrong. Only, he hadn't been able to control himself. The blood had called to him, enchanted him. "Oh, Sam" Dean stated tragically. He had an expression of utter misery and guilt. Sam dropped the rag and scooted hastily away from it. He managed to rip his lingering eyes from it. Dean stepped towards him, kneeling as he did. Sam could smell the blood rushing through Him. He could feel himself slipping away as the hunger took over. He held up a hand to signal for Dean to not get any closer. "Please....please, Dean, get away from me" Sam spoke through clenched teeth. His whole body was tense with restraint. Dean backed away to the door. "Sam, I have to leave. Me being here is obviously getting to you. I don't want to be the reason that you.....,get addicted to it again." Sam's worst nightmare was becoming reality. "Dean, no! What if-" "it's no longer a matter of if I go dark side. This is affecting you now. You were clean for so long" Dean angrily slammed his fist against the door. "You were good. This is all my fault, and i'm sorry." He sighed with resignation. "I'm gonna barricade you in the bunker on my way out. I'll be back in a few days to see if you're better." Dean turned from him. Sam knew nothing he said would be able to convince Dean to stay. He simply watched his brother walk away. "I'm so sorry." He whispered before he left. Sam sat, shaking and unknowing of what to do. He knew what was coming and he dreaded it.

The detoxing was the one thing about demon blood he had not missed. After a day of ignoring the dried, bloody rag in the library, Sam could no longer resist. The lack of blood had already began taking effect. The horrific hallucinations had started early, he was randomly tossed around rooms, and he had a burning that felt like it had set him on fire every time he breathed. He ran the rag under water to liquify it and sucked on it until there was not a drop left. The next two days were torture. His eyes had red rings around them. He had been so desperate that he attempted to claw his way through the sealed doors. His nails were bloody from the effort. He spent the passing hours pacing and screaming in pain. The detoxing was taking so much longer than if he had gorged himself, his body was punishing him for not getting enough. The tiniest bit he had in his system was clinging to him determinately. Somehow Dean had guessed this would happen. That was why he said he wouldn't return for several days. A day later Sam was laying on his back on his bedroom floor. All of the fight had left him. He still craved the blood, but he was weakened. His chest moved up and down, barely providing him with air. He heard a shuffling noise and lifted his aching head. A man wearing dark jeans and a tight, black t-shirt was leaning against a wall in front of him. His arms were crossed loosely. His bleary eyes lifted to show him the man's face. It was Dean's, only rougher, more cocky, and unusually at ease. His smirking lips were pulled down. "Hey, Sam." He greeted nonchalantly. "Dean..." Sam whimpered with a strained, cracking voice. He could practically feel the blood pumping through his brother's veins. "You oughta go, i'm not better yet." Sam suggested half-heartedly. Dean shrugged and made his lips pout. "I personally think you're fine just how you are. Except maybe you could use some strength." He told him cheerfully. "I meant to catch you on a day that you were too weak to resist." Sam had an alarmed feeling. "Resist what?" He asked. Dean strutted to him, dragging him to the foot of his bed. He hoisted Sam onto it with immense strength. Sam was now laying on the mattress, still too weak to move. Dean tilted his head and gazed lazily at Him. "I'm so sorry, Sammy." He slapped his hand to his heart. He didn't sound sorry, though. He sounded entertained, excited. There was something so different about him. He seemed carefree, too carefree. "For what?" Sam wondered suspiciously. Dean giggled and swung his hands behind his back. "Well, I was wrong. And now i'm gonna fix it. I'm gonna make up for my mistake that caused your suffering." He pointed a slender finger at him. "It wasn't your fault that I lost control." Sam reassured him. Dean wiggled his finger and shook his head. "No, you see, that wasn't my mistake. My mistake was refusing to give you what you needed" he held his arms out wide as if about to embrace someone. Sam's eyebrows drew together. What was he talking about? Dean drew a pocket knife from his jeans. He held his arm out gingerly and pressed the blade to it. There was a sickening ripping sound as his skin was cut. Sam gasped sharply. His vision was blacking out with the intense longing for the scarlet liquid pouring from his arm. When Dean's eyes flicked to Sam, they were a demonic black. Dean had definitely changed in the agonizing days that he was detoxing. It had happened. Dean was now the knight of hell that he was made into. Sam summoned every drop of strength he had left and scrambled off the bed. He groped desperately for the door handle. Dean moved closer to him. "There's no need to be afraid, Sammy. Just give in." "DON'T!" Was all Sam could force from his uncooperative body. Dean's mouth split into a maniacal grin. He stepped closer and closer until they were almost touching. Sam had stopped breathing, his eyes were glued to the ceiling defiantly. Dean pushed his bloody arm into his face. Sam stretched his neck to escape it. He was shaking frantically. Dean's face morphed into one of disappointment. "I thought you would be happier about my gift....well, maybe you just need a sample first." His expression broke into on of malevolence. He forced Sam's mouth open. He watched helplessly as Dean's arm was stuffed into his mouth. The blood flowed down his throat, leaving him with no breath. He gagged and choked as Dean forced his teeth to bite into his flesh. It swelled within him. he was suddenly powerful, his life rejuvenated. Sam's eyelids fluttered closed. He didn't know why he hadn't just accepted it. What could possibly make him not want this? His hands searched for something to grip. This wasn't evil, this was making him strong. He wasn't evil, drinking demon blood wasn't evil. The lines Repeated in his head. Suddenly the source of the blood was being forcefully tugged from his grasp. He growled in protest. He didn't want the feeling to end, he hadn't had his fill yet. "Don't worry, Sammy, you'll get more later." Dean's voice cooed to him. Sam greedily licked his lips clean. He was lounged against the wall, Dean towered above him looking satisfied. Sam looked down to discover his clothes and hands were stained red. "After all, I wouldn't want my pet to go hungry." Dean smirked. Sam was drunk from the blood, he didn't register his words. He slumped against the wall. Dean pulled something from his pocket. "Time for you to see your new home." Dean told him authoritatively. He bent down and revealed that he was holding a needle. "What are you-?" Sam began before being stuck in the arm with it. He groaned in pain. Something was suddenly weighing him down, pulling him into sleep. The last thing he saw was Dean's victorious face. He had gotten what he wanted.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, Sam didn't know how much time had passed when he returned to consciousness. Heated metal was burning his shirt and skin. He was, what felt like, drenched in sweat. He had the nauseating thought of being in his first home as his mother perished in the fire engulfing her. His body was limp, paralyzed. He couldn't seem to remember where he was or what had happened. His mind backtracked, filling the gaps between missing memories. He had been in the bunker....of course he had, he lived there. He remembered intense pain and longing. He had felt like he was being stabbed with thousands of hot needles. The pain lasted for several days until....he couldn't remember what stopped it, what made him strong. His body slightly jolted when he remembered that the pain was from detoxing from Dean's blood. His mind stammered with panic. The only thing that would have given him that kind of power would have been more blood. Had he somehow escaped the bunker and hunted down a demon? A malicious whispering wriggled through his mind. He gave it to you. It wasn't bad, it was what you needed. He wanted you to have it. Sam shunned the odd thoughts. He was suddenly flooded with the image of dark blood being sucked into his mouth, Dean's triumphant face above him. Control over his body returned all at once as he sat up hastily.


	2. The king's lair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff

Sam's bleary eyes distorted the sights before him. Everything was an odd blur of red and orange. He groaned and shifted his weight to his feet. He stumbled back and nearly fell over. There was a sound like a cage floor rumbling when he took a step. He squinted his eyes in the intense light. As his vision righted itself, he recognized red-orange bars in front of him. In a fit of fear he jumped forward and gripped the bars. The skin on his hands were burned by what felt like fire. He immediately released a yelp and tore his hands away. Everything was now becoming clear. The bars that burnt him were heated metal. Sam turned in a circle to reveal that he was surrounded by the bars in a square. His head jerked up. There was a fiery looking metal roof several feet above him. The cage was hardly big enough for him to lay flat. His heart hammered within him. Why was he locked up? His eyes searched wildly for a key to where he was. Behind the cage was an old brick wall. In front of him, about thirty feet away, was a row of filled cages just like his. They each had heated metal bars and only one person in them. Between the cages was a black, rocky path. He stuck his head as close to the bars as he could without singing his hair. Above the cages was an endless ceiling of fire. That, and the bars, explained why he was so hot. Sweat stung his eyes as it dripped from his forehead. He sniffed deeply. He began gagging and covered his nose. The place he was in smelt dreadful. It was a repulsive combination of sulfur and burning meat. It felt familiar, as if he had been there before. The whole place made him antsy and anxious to leave. It gave him a nervousness that kept his head turning back and forth, as if waiting to be attacked. He stood in the same spot, unmoving and analyzing. He didn't see a way out. There wasn't even a lock on his cage that he could attempt to pick. His body jolted when a gurgling scream pierced his ears. It chilled his spine and made his hairs stand up on his neck. It was then that he noticed the less audible yells and pleas for mercy. They seemed to be emanating from the walls themselves. With every scream he jumped and swiveled his head. The heat was prickling his skin painfully. He paced around the cage, thinking. Had Dean brought him here? He relived Dean injecting him with something to make him sleep. Sam recalled Dean calling him his pet. His pacing stopped abruptly. His mouth hung open in shock. He suddenly realized why this place felt so familiar. It reminded him of hell.

Sam could feel the demon blood stirring within him. It was what kept him partially calm. He lifted his arm and pointed his palm at the bars. He focused every cell of his being on crushing them. Hadn't he used demon telekinesis once before when he was on demon blood? His muscles strained and tightened, his breath held. His mind reached out to the bars, commanding that they brake. It wasn't going to work, he would be trapped in hell forever. The hopelessness fueled his determination. He let out a yell of frustration and anger. The bars squeaked and bent. They folded in on themselves, detaching from the rest of the cage. He stared wonderingly at the broken bars. Their heat was lost as they turned back to a dull metallic color. His chest rose and fell faster as the heat swelled in his lungs. He stepped over the bars and onto the path. It was layered in what appeared to be black ashes. There were tiny sparks falling from the ceiling of fire that all narrowly missed him. The rocky path crunched under his shoes as turned to find a tall, wooden door. He strode toward it and laid his hand on the unnaturally cool nob. The door refused to open. Sam grunted and ran his hands through his hair. "Try a littler harder to find me, Sammy." A gritty voice boomed in his head. He slammed his palms to his ears, but it was no use. Dean's voice was flowing straight into his mind. He pulled his shaking hands back to discover them coated in dark red. He recognized the smell as demon blood. He could feel it pouring from his ears. Sam knew the strength it was providing him with was now disappearing. His body began to tremble with weakness. His legs buckled as he knelt to the ground. Dean's voice returned, sounding weaker and less audible with each word. "I'm waiting, Sam". He shook off the abrupt dizziness and slowly stood. He forced his legs to walk in the opposite direction of the door. He grimaced at the powerful smell. He involuntarily flinched whenever he heard a loud scream. Sam's heart was drumming in his ears. He knew what he needed, the longing for it directed him to Dean. He turned down dimly lit corridors until he was in near darkness. The only light was coming from a few panels in the floor that charred human hands stuck out from. Some moved, others laid still. Sam was repulsed by the sight of them. He felt a surge of sympathy for the souls trapped there. Finally, he spotted a black door that was cracked open. The smell of demon blood practically poured out of it. Sam inhaled deeply, his chest rumbling. He had to keep control of himself in Dean's presence. He had to do whatever was necessary to bring him back to the bunker. He took a few moments to fight of the swarming thoughts of Dean's blood. Keep control, fight it. The smell was too strong. Dean had to have cut himself so he would be able to control Sam. He couldn't let him win. Sam took a deep breath and held it captive in his chest. He pushed the chipped door open. He entered a large room that gave him quite a surprise. It had not at all been what he thought. He had expected a room of fire and blood, a throne made of human limbs and a crown of teeth. Instead he was in a square living room. The walls were painted black and covered with ACDC and Metallica posters. There was a stack of playboy magazines on a small desk. The only odd thing was that the impala was behind a navy blue couch. On the couch, looking unsurprised and calm, was a lounging Dean. He wore the same jeans and black shirt as when he visited Sam. he had been watching Doctor Sexy M.D. on the flat screen t.v. until he noticed Sam. He quickly turned it off and stood to face him. "Hiya, Sammy. Weren't expecting all this, were you?" His arms gestured to the room. "I thought this might be a little more comfortable for you than seeing my usual hangout." He continued. Sam was bewildered. He had so many questions to ask him. He also had to stop him, but at the moment, he just seemed like normal Dean. He wasn't sure what to do so he began with a less complicated question. "How were you talking to me earlier?" He demanded awkwardly. Dean's smile stretched. He seemed pleased with his curiosity. "Apparently knight of hell blood has all of these neat little tricks. One being that if someone else consumes it, you have a telepathic connection. It's weird, but useful. The only problem is that if used, it drains the blood from the drinker afterwords." His eyebrows drew together. "It's a shame. Anyways, another trick is that it gives the drinker" he pointed at Sam. "Strong telekinesis. Which you already know." He appeared oddly proud of Sam. He looked like Dean, but the way he talked sounded nothing like him. Sam exploded with repressed anger. Even though he could feel the lack of demon blood affecting his mind, he couldn't hold back. "You've always hated that I drank demon blood!! And now you're feeding it to me?!? Dean, can't you see what's happening to you?!?!" This didn't appear to affect him. Sam held his breath again. He couldn't risking losing it now. Dean gazed at him with affection. "Sam, you don't understand. I want you to be my partner. I want you to help me run hell. Because guess what? I'm the king, baby. I don't NEED you. I WANT you. Join me." Sam was sickened by the idea of Dean being the king of hell. Although, some deep, dark corner of his mind longed to be at his brother's side. Dean's smile seemed to slip at the sight of Sam's mental rejection. He moved a step closer to him. Sam could now see the cut on his hand that he smelt earlier. "If you join me, you get all the blood you want. I know mine tastes better than the rest of them, Sammy. I know it's harder for you to resist." He strategically held his hand up to him. He wouldn't let himself taste it this time. He would spit it out if he had to. Dean seemed to sense his persistence. He had no time to react as Dean's knuckle slammed into Sam's jaw. His vision went black.

He saw brief flashes of walls passing him as he was dragged. He could distantly feel the black path scraping his back. When he returned to his body, it was restrained. He flexed his arms to find that they could hardly move. It was the same with his legs. His head was the only thing that would budge. His eyelids drifted open. His vision swam with black spots. "Dean?" He slurred. He could smell that Dean was nearby. He could feel his body pushing against his restraints. He was laying on a metal table. Dean stood above him, looking cool and controlled. His eyes flicked to Sam then returned to the cut on his hand. He squeezed it into a tight fist. A plain, black cup below it caught the blood that trickled from it. Sam swallowed hard. The blood was so powerful, it seemed to spark with strength. The words he was attempting to say stuck to his throat. Instead pitiful, pleading words that weren't his own escaped him. "Give it to me!" He demanded angrily. His face twisted. "I didn't mean t-to say that....what I meant was-I mean....get it away from me." He stammered with confusion. He was splitting into two parts, one half that desired the blood more than anything and one that would never be far enough from it. His mind was a thick fog of confusion. Sam didn't know how to feel, what to do. The split voices echoing in his scull screamed at him. Drink it, you know you want it. Drink it. DRINK IT!!! It's right there, all you have to do is ask and Dean will hand it over. Do it, Sam! His brow creased. His lips began mouthing the internal words slowly. It will turn you evil. You have to fight the temptation, it's what Dean wants! He wants it to bring you over to his side! DON'T DRINK IT! The battle raging within him made it difficult to focus on Dean. He was now smirking and holding the cup in his hand. His tongue was lost for words. Should he plead for it or deny it? He was almost relieved to discover that he didn't have a choice. Dean huffed and raised his eyebrows. "I really didn't think it would be this hard to crack you. Oh well, doesn't matter. I don't mind a little effort." He smiled maliciously as his eyes clicked to black. He seemed to be enjoying it more than he let on. He reached his arms to Sam and rested one on his head, tilting it up. The other held the cup that wavered over his face. "Trust me, Sammy. You'll enjoy this." He forced Sam's mouth open and tipped the cup. The warm liquid streamed down his throat. His mind cleared as the euphoric sensation returned. He had the urge to thank Dean, to beg forgiveness for denying the gift he had given him. He gasped a bit as he realized that it wasn't the only new urge he had. He desperately wanted to spill blood. He wanted to cause chaos and pain. Demon blood had never done THIS to him. Sure, it turned him into something he didn't recognize, but it never gave him bloodlust for anything except demons. It made him curious, but not enough to overpower the new need. He grunted and rubbed his wrists against the restraints. He needed to get out, he had to hurt somebody before his head exploded. It pounded as the word whispered itself repeatedly. Kill, kill, kill. It sounded oddly familiar. He trusted the voice, he let it guide him. He yelled rage fully as the restraints rubbed his skin raw. Dean put an arm on his shoulder. "Hold on. I think I can trust that it worked so i'll let you out. Go raise hell, brother." He began undoing the locks holding his wrists to the table. Sam watched eagerly and with darting eyes. He felt like a powerful storm being contained in such a weak body. He wished to be released from his shell and destroy everything in his path. He was seeing everything from red-tinted eyes. As his hands were released, Dean quickly jumped to his ankle cuffs and out of his reach. Was he scared of Sam? From some deep part of his mind, he was even afraid of himself. He sprung into a sitting position, flexing his overpowered muscles. His hands reached and strangled an invisible force. He ached for there to be a throat between them. Just as Dean nearly finished loosening the restraints, he spoke up. "Oh, and one more thing," he spoke with arrogance and a mock innocence. "One of the knight of hell blood tricks I didn't tell you about......partial mind control. More of an intense hypnotism. Wish I had known about it the first time I force fed you my blood. Would've made it a lot easier, but what are you gonna do? Well, enjoy the ride, Sammy." He flashed a malice-filled grin. Dean's words meant nothing to Sam. All that mattered was that he killed. His eyes nearly bulged as Dean finished undoing the last restraint. Sam rolled off of the table, landing crouched. He could feel his face forming into a snarl. Deep growls emanated from his chest. Just as he was about to lunge at the black-eyed, now white-face Dean, a commanding voice stopped him in his tracks. "You won't hurt me. I'm your brother, you obey me. Bow to the king of hell" dean demanded of him. He appeared nervous, anxious for Sam to do as he said. Perhaps Dean knew how powerful his blood made him? They could have been equals. Maybe Sam was even stronger than him. The guiding voice reappeared in his head, echoing Dean. The sheer authority and weight of the instructions brought him into a kneeling position. "I won't hurt you, my king." Sam's mouth said in a robotic, obedient voice. Dean sneered, obviously pleased. Meanwhile, Sam was fighting an unbearable itch to violently dig his nails into flesh. He longed for the sensation of blood running over his hands. His body was shaking with need as he whimpered softly. "I won't keep you any longer. Do what you gotta do." He smirked knowingly at Sam. Dean's eyes clicked back to green as he snapped. Sam was suddenly on a city sidewalk. He turned in a circle, scoping any life that he could destroy. There were only a few parked cars in the street, no people. His heart lifted and raced when he saw a woman in a long, stiff looking, black dress. His mouth split into a crazed and jubilated grin.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's mind raced with possibilities. He took a step off the sidewalk as he headed across the vacant road. He could tell his thinking was altered or changed in some way, but he didn't care. The bloodlust was so deeply drilled into his mind that everything else seemed to melt around it. The thought of shedding blood was a beam of light, a beacon, in a black, churning sea of confusion. As he was continuing to cross the road, he stopped abruptly. He gasped out the breath that had been knocked from him. His eyebrows drew up and his eyes began to tear. A familiar, tragic face was etched into his mind. It blocked the violent thoughts from being a main priority. The face grinned lovingly at him as he slid her hair around his finger. It had the Soft, gentle features of Jessica. His Jessica, the one that never ceased to haunt him with guilt. He couldn't help but feel overwhelming grief and love for her. As he was plauged by the thoughts, the woman in the black dress had gotten in her car and drove away. He huffed angrily and returned to the sidewalk. He made a mental vow to not let thoughts as ridiculous as a pretty, dead girl interrupt what was truly important.

As he was passing a puddle, he thought he saw something odd. He bent down and gazed into it. his face grew clearer in its reflection as he leaned closer. The whites of his eyes were infested with bloodshot, red veins, only there were enough to make it seem that they were deep red. His eyes were an unnatural mixture of bright, lively irises and bloody red. His brow crinkled. He shook his head slightly and pursed his lips. The fleeting moment of caring was extinguished in a maddening rage that commanded that he find a new victim. He clenched his fists tightly. Sam knew he had to continue searching for life. He strode determinately down the sidewalk. His breathing was heavy with impatience. What began as walking fast morphed into a desperate sprint. He turned into a dimly lit alleyway. The blackening sky was scattered with stars that were growing brighter by the minute. Sam halted and allowed his eyelids to drift closed. He bowed his pounding head in concentration. There was a distant musical laughter moving to the alley. It was a bit slow, as if the woman it came from was tongue tied. Sam then noticed that there was also a more masculine howling of giggles. He could hear the woman hiccuping between gasps for breath. From the information he gathered, Sam guessed that the two were drunk. His heart lurched with joy. It only made his hunt an easier task. Part of him wished for more of a challenge but he was still shaking with longing for violence. As the couple emerged into the alley, Sam quickly stepped behind a bulky dumpster. He bent his legs to hide his body and peaked over the top.

The stumbling woman's arm was woven through the man's as he supported her. They were both still gasping from their prolonged laughter. Sam slide a knife out from the inside of his jacket. He waited what felt like years for them to reach the dumpster. Every anxious beat of his heart was painful and angry. He repositioned his feet to be facing them. His legs sprung from the ground as he tackled the couple. The woman screeched with fear and the man wriggled to get Sam off of him. This was it, this was what he had been waiting for. It was hardly a struggle to keep the two pinned with his new strength. The knife fell to the woman's chest, digging itself through her body. She gave one final yelp as her blood cascaded over her dress. Sam grinned with a maniacal relief. The man whipped his head to the woman. “SARAH!” He screamed in a cracked, unbelieving voice. Sam greedily drank in his pain. He silenced the man's yells by slicing his throat. He could feel himself being smothered in their blood. His head tilted back as he released an exhilarated and insane jingle of laughter. He couldn't remember ever feeling so ecstatic. The only thing that could compare was drinking Dean's blood. He was suddenly being gripped by incredibly strong arms. He was ripped from the bodies of the people he killed and slammed against a wall. Sam attempted to push the force holding him away but its strength was greater than his. He felt warm hands pushing on his chest, denying him free will. Even though whoever had grabbed him was powerful, Sam's mouth split into a grin at the thought of having another fight. “Sam, what have you done?” A sorrowful, deep voice asked. Sam recognized the voice. A consciousness stirred within him, screaming the name desperately. He couldn't help being relived by the sound of his voice. Sam blinked several times, the man's face becoming more defined “Cas?” Sam asked with conflicting emotions at the sight of him.

He felt the urge to hug the angel. All of a sudden his head was being what felt like stabbed from the inside. It felt as though his mind was being scorched with raging fire. He yelled out in pain. Cas released Sam. He threw his hands to his head and slid down the wall. He couldn't handle the pain, it was torture. Sam screamed In agony. Cas bent to Sam's level, watching him warily. “Sam, what is it? What's wrong?” Sam couldn't answer. He was making hardly audible whimpering noises. a thought was implanted into his skull, it demanded that he killed Cas. Another thought, though not quite as powerful, suggested forcefully that he fought the urge to kill him. The demand was becoming unbearable to ignore. With shaking hands, he gripped his knife. He made an animalistic noise as he attempted to stab him. Just before the blade entered his skin, Cas grabbed Sam's wrist, trapping it in his hand. “I wonder...” He mumered, his eyes squinting. He laid his palm on Sam's head. Sam was still trying to stab him when he felt an intrusive warmth squirming through his mind. Cas pulled his hand away. “This is not good.” He said to himself. “I can't remove the control Dean has over you....I suppose the only way to give you back your free would be for Dean to choose to stop.” He continued, gazing at Sam. “But perhaps I can help you fight his influence...” Sam didn't care about free will. All he wanted, needed in life was to kill him. When Cas let go of his hand, yet again reaching for his forhead, Sam swung his fist with every ounce of his strength. The punch connected with Cas's nose, forcing his head to the side. Cas grunted angrilly and pushed Sam's head back. He layed his warm palm on his skin, triggering the warmth to enter his skull. This time it was more forceful and aggressive, it seemed to looking for something. He could feel the consciousness from earlier being dragged forward, pulled right into his vision, hearing, ability to move. It was melting into him. He gasped as it was fully in place. How was it possible that there was two of him? The other him spoke through his mouth. “Is it gone? Is Dean out of my head?” He sounded frantic, without hope. Cas sighed. “Not yet. But we don't have very much time and there is something you should know....” Cas swallowed hard as if he was explaining something very disturbing. “Dean was...clever about making you do what he wanted. Rather than simply giving you demands that you could resist if you truly wanted to, he created a seperate entity and put it in your mind. It is easier to control it.” Sam felt hurt and desperate. He also felt uncaring and rageful. He was still being nearly blinded by resisting killing Cas. “I know” he told him in a soft voice. “I can feel it. It-it feels like me but it's also so....violent. It's like there are two of me.” Cas crinkled his brow and bored his eyes into Sam's. “I could feel how intertwined your thoughts are. I'm afraid tht will make it more difficult to remove it.” Sam's eyes slid to the dead couple only a few feet from him. His eyes began to water. He remembered the feeling of joy and accomplishment when they were dead beneath him. Sam felt like an abomination, a monster, a murderer. His hand began to shake from the need to kill Cas. “Cas, I can't stop” Sam's voice broke and wobbled. He released a soft sob. “I know and it's not your fault. I......also know that he told you to kill me....and that you can't hold back much longer.” Cas appeared hurt and grief stricken. Sam could feel that he was losing himself, his good self at least. Cas seemed to sense this too. “We should get you back to the bunker so that you don't hurt anybody else.“ With that, he rested his hand on Sam's shoulder. Within the same second, a tear rolled down Cas's cheek and Sam lost control. He raised the knife to slit his throat. Before the knife touched his skin, they disappeared from the alley. The bodies and blood disappeared as well. All that lingered was the scent of death and the distant echoes of Sam's screams.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a flash of blinding white light and a high pitched, ear piercing sound. When Sam and Cas arrived at the men of letters bunker, they were in the sitting room. Cas was on the other side of the room, eyes locked on Sam. His form was rigid and his breathing was slightly quickened. There was a shallow cut on Cas's throat, the knife still gripped in Sam's hand. They held each other's eyes, neither moving. Sam sensed the good half of him thumping dully in protest to what he was doing. Cas spoke abruptly. “I know there is still good in you, Sam Winchester. You have to fight it. Fight Dean, not me. He can't control you.” Sam flinched at the continuous pain and weight of Dean's orders. He had no option. He felt no empathy, nor affection for the angel. Cas's expression seemed to beg him to stop. His eyebrows were drawn together in deep thought. His jaw was clenched. Sam decided to humor the irritating consciousness atrempting to take over his mind. Perhaps it would leave him so he could just fulfill the actions his bloodlust demand of him. He lowered the knife. Cas seemed to relax a bit as his eyes darted from it to his face. “Look, um, Cas...the thing is....” Sam shrugged nonchalantly. “I have to kill you.” He lowered his arms and Cas regained his guarded stance. “You don't. This is Dean, not you. I know you can hang on just long enough for me to lock you up” Cas pleaded. Sam sighed boredly. “You don't understand. It feels AMAZING to kill. It is everything.” Sam wore a crazed smile just talking about it. His expression suddenly turned dark. “There's also this pain if I ignore what Dean tells me to do. He'll kill me if i don't. Or he'll torture me. And I have no emotions towards you. No friendship, no love, not even hate. It's nothing against you.” Sam pursed his lips. He couldn't hold off any longer. He knew he would soon be punished if he didn't complete his task. He sucked in a deep breath and charged towards him. He swung the knife behind his head. Cas junped back as he sliced the air. Cas stretched his fist to Sam's face. Sam leaned to the other side and dodged the punch. He grunted and forced the blade through his chest. Cas stepped back and pulled it out with one hand. While he was distracted, Sam flung himself to a wooden chair. His hand flew under the seat and groped for the hidden angel blade. His eyes shot ip to find Cas standing above him with a metallic blade in his hand. “Looking for this?” He asked sarcastically. Sam snarled with a burst of rage and desire to shed blood. He sprung to his feet, his hands wrapping around Cas's throat. Cas's eyes bulged with surprise. Sam summoned the demon blood within him, pumping it into his muscles. Cas clamped his hands over Sam's. Sam tightened his fingers, the feeling of blood rushing under them. Cas's face was turning a deep red. Sam's maniacal grin spread. He was rewarded with a rush of euphoric joy. There was a sharp pain in his abdomen that caused his whole body to jolt. His smile faltered as his fingers loosened. Cas tore away from him, clutching his throat. Sam's knees buckled, sending him to the ground. He bent his head down to find a deep stab wound. He quickly pressed on it with his hands. There was a heavy scent of blood in the air. something worked its way up his throat, doubling him over. He spit up dark splatters of blood, his body heaving. There was a steady Hand squeezing his shoulder. “I'm so sorry, Sam.” Cas told him sincerely with his gritty, broken voice. Sam made a sickening gurgling sound. The white light and high pitched noise returned. Some wondered where Cas was teleporting them to.


End file.
